Neon Genesis Wossname
by Daniel Jess Gibson
Summary: NGE by the characters of Discworld. The direct result of trying to explain NGE to Terry Pratchett fans, and too much celebrating.
1. Chapter 1

A NGE/Discworld Fusion

The characters are the property of Terry Pratchett, the situations are the property of Gainex and Hideaki Anno

C&C , MSTs are welcome

Email to: dan(underscore)s(dot)comments(at)att(dot)net

Neon Genesis Wossname Pt 1

. . . The familiar room, the glowing Sephiroth incised in the floor, the stern figure sitting behind the massive desk. The glasses poised precariously on the tip of the nose, and the figure's hand reaching up towards them.

. . . The hands closed on the glasses, pulling them off, a stern gaze examined them. "What use are spectacles that won't stay?" Granny Weatherwax glared at the glasses again, then set them down and reached for her hat. She placed this firmly on her head. In a moment it was secure, it wouldn't be slipping all over the place. "Better."

. . . The door to the office burst open, Granny's ally and fellow witch Nanny Ogg breezed in. "Cooee, posh place, this!" Nanny announced.

. . . "What are you wearing?"

. . . "Like it?" Nanny turned around. "Breezier than I'm used to, but least it's black." Nanny tugged at the short, black dress. "But I've still got the legs for it," Nanny cackled as she put her hobnailed boots on the desk.

. . . Granny decided not to comment.

. . . "The hat's a no go though." Nanny removed her pointed hat, fidgeted with the new hat band, all that was left of the beret that originally had been part of the costume. She removed a can of Yebisu, opened it. "Beer in tins, don't need a hammer to open'em, like I said, posh. Hobnobbin' with the nobs."

. . . "Then why don't the spectacles fit?" Granny asked crossly, "I'm still waitin' for the others, and an explanation. Where are they?"

. . . "You don't wear a hat, Commander; and you don't wear spectacles, Esme."

. . . "There are more important things," Granny replied, "Like that heathen writt'n in the floor. Or is it for dances? Need to get some sawdust, cover it up, must give people comin' in a right headache."

. . . "I think that's the point."

. . . "What for?" Granny asked, "If you can't get'em to do what needs doin'?"

. . . I APOLOGIZE FOR THE DELAY. The figure was tall, wearing an ill fitting blue and white plugsuit, and an equally ill fitting blue wig. It stumbled against the desk, the red marbles, that made its eye sockets look like red eyes, tumbled to the ground. OH DEAR.

. . . "Well, that explains a lot," Granny said, "You could have told me, Gytha Ogg."

. . . "Ver' good costume," Nanny said, handing the Grim Reaper the fallen blue wig. "Never saw blue thatch befor'. Very . . . "

. . . I HAD TO LOOK THE PART.

. . . "Shouldn't the cowl be on the outside?" Nanny noted that none of them were comfortable giving up all of their usual uniforms.

. . . THE COSTUME IS FORM FITTING . . .

. . . "Ah, why us?" Granny asked as Death sat down, contemplating the marbles.

. . . I HAD SUCH HOPES . . . I AM SORRY, THE PERSONALITY TYPES ARE IMPORTANT. NEITHER THE SPECTACLES NOR THE HAT ARE IMPORTANT.

. . . "What is important?" Granny asked, staring at Death, it was a good stare, one of her best.

. . . Death shied away from Granny's stare.

. . . YOU HAVE THE REQUISITE QUALITIES.

. . . Granny's next question was interrupted by a white haired young woman storming in. "Grandfather! This is going too far!" Susan held up the red plugsuit. "It's indecent." She glanced at Nanny Ogg's costume, and with some difficulty, wisely decided not to comment.

. . . "You aren't supposed to show up yet," Nanny said, having clearly heard the unspoken comment.

. . . "And these lines." She brandished a script. "They're stupid, no one really talks like this."

. . . A CERTAIN CREATIVE LIBERTY SEEMS ALLOWABLE. Death explained.

. . . Susan frowned, opened the script, "'Don't try to frighten us with your sorcerous ways.'"

. . . Nanny's brow furrowed. "Deary."

. . . "'Hasn't located their hidden base.'"

. . . "DEARY!" Nanny interrupted.

. . . "What?"

. . . "That isn't the script, deary." Nanny pulled a telephone book sized script from somewhere, handed it to Susan.

. . . "If I have your script, what do you do?" Susan asked.

. . . Nanny cackled. "When I need a piece of paper to tell me when to do those things, I'll not only be ready for your Grandfather, I'll be happy to see him." Nanny cackled some more.

. . . Granny rolled her eyes. "I always said you was a bossy one, Gytha Ogg."

. . . "That too," Nanny replied.

. . . "So who are we fighting?" Granny demanded of Death.

. . . The room abruptly vanished, only the desk and chairs remained. Dozens, if not hundreds of gray monoliths appeared around them, all read 'SEELE 00 Sound Only'.

. . . We. The word hadn't been spoken, but everyone heard the sound of it die away.

. . . YOU HAVE ALREADY BROKEN THE AGREEMENT. Death commented. ONE OF YOU SENT MY GRANDDAUGHTER THE WRONG SCRIPT.

. . . "All's fair in war I th . . . oh damn." One of the monolith's winked out, another immediately replaced it. It had become an individual, and all individuals are temporary.

. . . "The battle accepts no result except victory."

. . . "Glad to hear it," Granny placed the spectacles on and pushed them up her long nose. She concentrated her stare at the newly arrived monolith.

. . . "You can't intimidate me . . . oh . . . " It evaporated. The others faded before Granny could fix on another target.

. . . As the room returned, there were two additional occupants.

. . . "I have to apologize, Your Lordship," the fat one in the armor groveled expertly.

. . . The tall, thin man, even Granny thought of him as 'severe', was clearly inexperienced with reassuring underlings, "I assure you, Sergeant, it will all be sorted out."

. . . THERE WAS SOME CONFUSION ABOUT THE CORRECT CHARACTERIZATION OF YOUR ASSISTANT. Death explained to Granny.

. . . "I take it we will perform the role jointly then?" the Patrician asked after he had introduced himself and Sergeant Colon.

. . . Death nodded. Sergeant Colon ignored everything except the figure in the blue and white plugsuit.

. . . The Patrician stared at the waxen expression on the Sergeant's face. "Overjoyed to be of assistance no doubt."

. . . "No doubt whatsoever," Granny commented under her breath. "Them can't be a big threat."

. . . THEY USE PROXIES. Death explained. IF THEY CANNOT DESTROY HUMANS AS A WHOLE, THEY CAN DESTROY THEIR HUMANITY.

. . . Granny and Nanny exchanged looks, they both knew very well who would be willing to do this.

. . . "Commander," a gruff male voice announced, "Systems have detected an Angel."

. . . THE ENEMY. Death told them quickly.

. . . "Let's see it," Granny said.

. . . "Yes, Commander," the disembodied voice said.

. . . What appeared was a city scene, dominated by something that clearly wasn't a building. It was tall, and human looking, brightly colored and it had **Style!**

. . . There was only one kind of mind that made war machines that look like they stepped out of a child's sugar induced nightmare.

. . . AN ELFANGELION.

* * *

. . . The Librarian had been eager to help. He wasn't comfortable with the students always checking out the books, wearing out the words by reading them. But some people should be allowed to read as much as they wished. The idea that no one would read was bad enough, the idea that no one would WRITE horrified him. He'd nearly knuckled over Death in his eagerness to get at these foes.

. . . So he sat in the room, dangled his feet in the warm, orange water. He knew he should be almost submerged in it, but he'd tasted it, once. Eight colors of the rainbow were quite sufficient for him. Besides, he wanted to keep his new purple robe dry, it made him look rather regal he thought. The badge labeled '01' was a nice touch, made him feel official.

. . . He glanced worriedly at the room's other occupant, also dipping its feet, in its case, in shifts of twenty or so. The Luggage had been an acquaintance, right now the Librarian watched it very carefully.

. . . Someone had painted it a hideous orange, and nailed a badge labeled '00' below the lock. How they had managed this without carnage was something on which the Librarian did not want to speculate.

. . . Someone might have said that the Luggage looked cross. The Librarian thought that was ridiculous. A steamer trunk looking piece of baggage, with only an unmoving lock as a means of expression, 'looks cross' indeed. The Luggage was clearly bloody furious. All it needed was a target for that rage.

. . . Voices approached, the Librarian buffed his badge on his arm, to look presentable. He also felt courtesy required he should give some warning to innocent bystanders.

. . . What entered was sufficiently shocking that the Luggage took no action. The Librarian merely bent close and peered at the tiny figures.

* * *

. . . The withdrawal of the face of a 40 meter tall ape was a cause for relief of everyone.

. . . "I'm still not going to do it," the rather dilapidated figure with the scraggly beard, put upon expression and the pointy hat with sequins spelling the word 'Wizzard' told the rest of the group.

. . . The sight of the figure being dropped out of a stretcher by Mustrum Ridcully and Ponder Stibbons had less than its desired effect because, a) Rincewind knew the figure was Death; b) despite writhing soundlessly, and in character, it was clear Death was neither in real pain nor a very convincing actor; and c) Ponder and Ridcully had been overly generous with the bandages, to the point that a person so padded and mummified, wouldn't have been hurt by being thrown off a ten story building.

. . . "You don't need me to pilot," Rincewind returned his attention to the vertical members of the group. "You can't tell me you need me to 'pilot' the Librarian, I don't even know how!"

. . . "He's in character," Ridcully murmured.

. . . Rincewind was aware of the force of the people staring at him, but he'd run away from greater danger in his life before. He saw no reason to change a winning formula.

. . . "If you don't fight it," Granny told him, "We'll all be in a lot of trouble."

. . . Rincewind looked at the large metal tubes with the seats in them, he'd read enough of the script to know that's where the pilot sat. "Where exactly are those supposed to go?"

. . . "Ook! Eeek!"

. . . "I thought so."

. . . An image of the creature they had seen before appeared above them. It was tipping over a few outlying skyscrapers, and listening to them crash.

. . . Rincewind's protest was cut short by an enraged 'Ook!' and the huge orangutan knuckling past them and out the doors of the EVA bay.

. . . "Coo', he didn' open'em first," Nanny Ogg said.

. . . Granny turned to the Patrician, "Professor, clear that up." She turned and marched away.

. . . "Sergeant," the Patrician said and walked away.

. . . "Right your Lordship," Sergeant Colon said and desperately looked around for someone to pass it too, except Ridcully and Ponder Stibbons were leaving with Nanny, that left Rincewind and Death, neither seemed the order taking type.

. . . EXCUSE ME. Death struggled under the weight and confinement of the bandages. I'VE FALLEN AND I CAN'T GET UP.

* * *

. . . On the command deck, Samuel Vimes took a long drag on his cigar and helped to his feet the white haired old man, who was tinkering with the device. The nervous-looking, skinny witch in the corner seemed as lost as he was. Vimes didn't mind the costume, wearing a dress and a blonde wig to 'Save The World' seemed the way the universe generally worked. Considering some of the crazy things he'd had to do. At least he could smoke in here, despite the woman's disapproving stare.

. . . "Anyway." The old man examined what looked like a collection of metallic spiders. "How did you know projecting the words 'Public Library' on the fallen building would have that effect?"

. . . "I know my apes." Sam Vimes stared at the screen. "What do you call this?" He gestured at the three huge cabinets and the odd desks.

. . . "Oh, it's my Machine for Analyzing Geometric Irregularities. I call it the Geometric Irregularity Analyzing Machine."

. . . Vimes nodded. "What are the mattresses for?" Vimes patted the meter thick layer of padding atop the three cabinets.

. . . "Oh, later I have to throw myself from up there onto the Geometric Irregularity Analyzing Machine. A person could be seriously injured doing that."

* * *

. . . The Librarian didn't know why he'd climbed the tallest pointy building. It just felt right, felt appropriate for a 40 meter tall ape.

. . . The machine looked like a fancy suit of armor, a very fancy suit of armor. With bright colors and damasked metal, lots of extra wings and metal feathers and other gaudy bits. Overall it looked a little like a metal, flightless bird that had been through an extremely tasteful explosion in a paint factory.

. . . The Librarian waited for it to pass the building he'd climbed. Dropping on an opponent from behind wasn't chivalrous, but these were elves, they like hearing about chivalry, they liked hearing about any kind of romantic stupidity. He examined the equally overdecorated back of the machine. It was Baroque, but he'd fix it.

* * *

. . . The entire crew was slowly turning their heads from side to side.

. . . "Does the head normally unscrew that way?" Ponder asked.

. . . NOT IN MY EXPERIENCE.

. . . The fight hadn't exactly been one sided, a one sided fight implied the other side was at least making an effort. That didn't apply here. 'Unit 01' hadn't done much more than land on the Elfangelion, and while gripping with his feet, began dismantling it. Being a veteran of many tavern brawls, he'd started with the arms, he unscrewed them, which if they couldn't originally, they certainly could now. Then the legs, ditto.

. . . Finally the head, which eventually surrendered to the relentless logic that anything can be unscrewed if you apply enough force.

. . . "I don't think the Librarian has a slot between the shoulder blades," Rincewind commented on the metal tube the Librarian had extracted from the disintegrated machine.

* * *

. . . The Librarian knew that there was an elf in the tube, he could smell it. Despite the success, he decided against trying to unscrew this one, there was such a thing as pushing a good idea too far.

. . . He bit the end off the tube and shook out the elf inside. The creature shot him in the nose with a bow and arrow. The elf shot made him sneeze.

. . . "You can't hurt me!" the elf shouted, "Monkeys are all plant eaters!"

. . . A satisfying crunch later, the Librarian reflected that if the elf respected books more, he might have read that orangutans occasionally ate insects, and that elf certainly bugged him.

* * *

. . . "That may not have been according to the script," Susan commented, "But I think we won."

. . . THAT WAS NUMBER THREE, NUMBERS FOUR THROUGH EIGHTEEN TO GO. Death told the others.

. . . "What about one and two?" Granny asked.

. . . THEY DO NOT TAKE PART. Death replied.

. . . "Well." Granny took the spectacles out of her pocket and placed them on her face. "Professor, take care of this."

. . . "Of course." The Patrician turned to the newly arrived Sergeant Colon, who saluted.

. . . "Yes, your Lordship, I know, 'Take care of it.'"

. . . "Good man." The Patrician turned to the others.

. . . "Good man, that ape," Ridcully said, "Tribute to the University."

. . . "He doesn't like being called a monkey," Ponder added.

. . . "I believe we all gathered that," Nanny commented, "Don't like it much me'self." She removed her hat, removed the beer therein, opened and drank it. "Can't wait for the next one. Let's sic the box on that one."

. . . Ridcully and Ponder shuddered, they clearly wondered what elves had done to deserve that hideous fate.


	2. Chapter 2

A NGE/Discworld Fusion

The characters are the property of Terry Pratchett, the situations are the property of Gainex and Hideaki Anno

C&C , MSTs are welcome

Email to: dan(underscore)s(dot)comments(at)att(dot)net

Neon Genesis Wossname: pt 2

. . . _Imustn't run away, Imustn't run away,_ Rincewind thought it was a good saying, it let him keep a good steady stride, as he ran away. He didn't look behind him. He still thought Commander Vimes was cheating. A Watchman chasing him was supposed to shout bloodcurdling oaths or shoot at him with whatever missile was the national favorite. It was traditional, historic even, it was also immensely encouraging. Instead, Vimes was just running behind him, not even trying to sprint after him. Just a steady pace as if they were running together. Like he thought, cheating. Rincewind figured he'd lose Vimes in the forest.

. . . Dodging among the trees, he could still hear Vimes behind him. _Trees don't grow limbs that fast!_ was Rincewind's last thought for a while.

* * *

. . . "Good job Captain," Vimes panted as Carrot Ironfounderson lowered his arm and stepped out from behind the tree.

. . . "I believe this was part of the script," Carrot said, slinging the unconscious 'Wizzard' over his shoulder.

. . . Both men turned to the crashing sound behind them. The sight of a 40 meter tall ape coming through the forest was something neither man was comfortable with.

. . . "You were supposed to be helping us," Vimes shouted.

. . . "Ook," the Librarian replied.

. . . "Why do you have a shovel?" Carrot asked.

. . . The Librarian hid the EVA scale shovel behind his back and tried to look innocent. "Oook?"

. . . "The one you're hiding behind you," Carrot replied, pointing at the handle and blade that they could still clearly see, "And where is the Luggage?"

. . . "Ooook?"

. . . "Come on, we can discuss this later," Vimes said, "Put your hand down, I want to get back. Not you Captain."

. . . "Just giving you a leg up, sir," Carrot told him.

. . . "Eek!" the Librarian put a 2 meter across palm where the two watchmen could climb aboard.

. . . "Wasn't there an alert?" Carrot asked, "Shouldn't you be out there?"

. . . "Ook," the Librarian said dismissively.

. . . "I think Commander Vimes might like to see that. We might charge the them with inciting lascivious behavior," Carrot said.

. . . "You got all that from an 'Ook'?" Vimes asked.

. . . "An 'Ook', sir," Carrot corrected.

. . . Vimes decided to drop the subject.

* * *

. . . "Grandfather, I don't think the American audience can understand him," Susan told plugsuited figure beside her. Her gaze kept being drawn to his chest. Her grandfather had read that Rincewind had to grope him. Since Death naturally lacked the necessary targets, he'd asked for help. Susan just wished he hadn't gone to Nanny Ogg. One grapefruit, halved, would have done the job. From what she'd heard about Rincewind, a few potatoes would have had the desired effect. Two watermelons with 'any tom ical authenticalatin' bits' seemed . . . excessive.

. . . THANK YOU, NO, Death told the small red haired blue man.

. . . The figure leapt onto the table, then confronted Death face to face, then forehead to forehead. "Bigjobs!" There was a sound like a gong made of eggshells. The Nac mac Feegle landed on Death's new prosthetics, then slid to the table with a surprised expression.

. . . The Death of Rat kicked the small figure off the table, then tugged on Death's sleeve. SQUEAK.

. . . WE ARE CONDUCTING AUDITIONS, Death said tiredly, YOU DO WANT SUSAN TO HAVE THE BEST AND MOST APPROPRIATE PARTNER, DON'T YOU?

. . . SQUEAK! The Death of Rat shook its bony fists and hopped up and down, sounding like an angry maraca. SQUEEEAK! It grabbed at its red robe, and the scythe altered to appear as a tiny sonic glaive. SQUEAK? SQUEEEEEK!

. . . Susan hid her smile. Something else had caught her eye. "Excuse me."

. . . WE HAVE ANOTHER CANDIDATE, Death indicated the pointy hat, decorated like a magpie's hoard, shuffling onto the stage.

. . . "I trust you two," she kissed her Grandfather's cheek and patted the Death of Rats, "You'll do the right thing."

. . . She stepped into the corridor, out of sight of the others. Binky, Death's horse awaited, seemingly worried about something. She stroked the soft nose, got a gentle nuzzling in reply. "Grandfather has been quite cross, where have you been hiding?"

. . . Binky wickered softly and glanced back at the paper carefully tied to the saddle's pommel. Susan recognized it was a page from the guide book that let the current participants see what the original people and things looked like. The picture was black and white. _No,_ Susan realized, _The subject was black and white._

. . . "This character is just the comedy relief," Susan told Binky, who nodded. "All right, I'll tell Grandfather, I guess you'll be able to watch out for me better this way. How are you going to fit in that tiny refrigerator?"

. . . An irritated snort from Binky told her it wasn't her problem. After all, Death's horse could go anywhere.

. . . She wandered back into the audition chamber.

. . . I CAN ASSURE YOU, Death was telling the irate hat, IF NO BETTER CANDIDATE PRESENTS ITSELF, THE JOB IS YOURS.

. . . "There is no better candidate! I'm tired of doing stunt double work in Rowling's stuff! That two bit felt hack! He's just a prop, a humorous tool! I am the Archchancellor's Hat. I am an artiste!"

. . . The Death of Rats looked ready to turn it into dust bunnies.

. . . NEXT, Death announced with all the finality he could summon, which was both considerable, and barely sufficient.

. . . The grumbling hat continued, but left the stage.

. . . I AM SORRY, SUSAN, Death said quietly, NO SUITABLE CANDIDATE HAS PRESENTED ITSELF. I HAD HOPES . . .

. . . "Binky doesn't want the job," Susan said as she set the picture on the table, "He's found a more suitable role."

. . . OH, DEAR.

. . . Susan turned to the Death of Rats, "Your friend Quoth, is he available."

. . . There was a small clatter as Death of Rats fainted.

. . . HE WAS MY SECOND CHOICE, Death admitted, BUT WE SHOULDN'T LET HIM KNOW THAT.

. . . "Agreed."

* * *

. . . It was an elf maiden, a very shapely elf maiden, a very shapely elf maiden with a very definite come hither gaze, a very shapely elf maiden with a very definite come hither gaze wearing enough leather, silk and chain mail to make perhaps four decent dresses. Since the creature in question was nearly 40 meters tall, that left very little to the imagination. It was also very dead, its head resting near the rest of the body, which made everything almost manageable. The two massive whips it carried seemed not so much weapons as . . .

. . . "It's very . . . " Carrot managed, finding his eyes drawn to various places, and a few very embarrassing thoughts. He tried to loosen his collar.

. . . "Yes it is . . . " Vimes agreed, "Isn't it." He glanced at the cigar he'd been handling and quickly tossed it away, putting his hands behind his back.

. . . "Ook," the Librarian commented, giving the impression that a fur covered bean bag chair would have been more effective.

. . . "Who who is handling the clean up, sir," Carrot said when the Librarian turned for home and blocked their view.

. . . "A contractor from the Nerima district," Vimes consulted his notes, "She claims she'll be able to grind it up and sell it. Whatever 'via grass' is."

. . . Carrot, still looking very embarrassed, only nodded.

* * *

. . . Ponder Stibbons was locked in a battle to the death, he wasn't about to let it get the better of him. _All it takes is speed,_ he thought silently as his hand hovered over its target.

. . . Then it rang.

. . . "HelloPonderStibbonNERVcentral!" he gasped, to a dial tone. He carefully replaced the handset and waited. It had been doing this for days! It would ring once. A few minutes later, it would ring again, once. It shouldn't have bothered him, he should have just shrugged it off. Yet there was something maddening about it. It had started that morning last week, in his quarters, moving on to the cafeteria, he'd moved five times just today and it followed him. The nearest phone would ring, once; then it would ring again, once. All day, all night.

. . . "Mister Stibbons, you need a break, some tea." Aoba, aka Mustrum Ridcully told him.

. . . "I'm fine Archchancellor," Ponder said, preparing for another attempt, it would ring soon, and he'd be ready.

. . . "Mister Stibbons, I am your Archchancellor, I'll tell you when you need your tea. Is that clear?"

. . . "Yes, Archchancellor." Ponder stood up and walked past him.

. . . The phone in front of Ridcully rang. Ponder froze, Ridcully glanced at it. When it didn't ring twice, he went back to polishing his crossbow. It rang again, once, again Ridcully ignored it.

. . . "Aoba Archchancellor, aren't you going to answer it?" Ponder asked as he stood there, he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead, his hands clenching and unclenching, "It might be important."

. . . "No." Ridcully sighted down the length of the crossbow. "If it's important, they'd stay on the line." He fitted a quarrel in the bow sighted again.

. . . It rang again, once. Ponder couldn't stand it, he leapt at the offending instrument. His leap was mistimed and poorly executed. He wound up tangled with the cord and the Archchancellor.

. . . "Mister Stibbons?" the Archchancellor asked in the voice of the terminally patient. Your terminus, not theirs.

. . . "Yes, Archchancellor?"

. . . "Been at the dried frog pills, Mister Stibbons?"

. . . "No, Archchancellor!" Ponder insisted.

. . . Ridcully helped the other man up. "Word from the wise, Mister Stibbons."

. . . "Yes, Archchancellor?"

. . . "Start."

. . . Ponder walked off dejected, _It is only a telephone._ Then it rang again, just once. Ponder turned, he could answer it he knew he could. Except the Archchancellor was staring at him, smiling in that knowing way of his. _As if he actually understood! He doesn't understand!_ he raged inwardly, his eyes touching the phone, it taunting him that way. Ponder glanced at the Archchancellor again, and slunk off to get the tea.

* * *

. . . Mustrum Ridcully looked around, "You can come out now. I'll be explaining it to Mister Stibbons all presently." Now Ridcully was angry. The boy had some daft ideas, but he was faculty.

. . . The swarm of gray monoliths appeared, replacing the command deck. He will be ours, eventually. Ridcully remembered them saying.

. . . "I don't see it," Ridcully said, he didn't hate much, but these things definitely took the cake, and you never took a wizard's cake. "He'll see it was just a trick. No path into darkness, like the book."

. . . Darkness? Book?

. . . Ridcully knew he had them.

. . . "One ring to rule them all and one ring to find them, one ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them." The screaming did not stop for several minutes.

* * *

. . . The alarms brought the entire crew to alert status.

. . . "Report," Granny ordered, putting on her 'Commander' glasses.

. . . "It's another angel, Gran " Magrat stopped when she looked up and saw the stare, "Commander."

. . . Granny nodded down to the girl, "That was a little too fast," she said to Gytha and the Patrician.

. . . "The artillery seems to have little effect," the Patrician reported as the flashes appeared on the surface of the blue translucent octahedron. Inside the elven crew were preparing something.

. . . "It's going to try to bore into the base?" Granny asked quietly.

. . . "That's what the script said," Nanny agreed, "Do we sent the ape out to get parboiled?"

. . . "No." Granny sat, stared at the screen.

. . . The Angel headed towards it's position and started lowering the drill.

. . . DUUUU DUNT! The sound shook the entire complex.

. . . "What is that?" Vimes demanded.

. . . I LENT THE LIBRARIAN MY ORGAN, Death explained.

. . . "I've met Igors who do that," Nanny said.

. . . "Put it on the screen," Granny ordered.

. . . DUUUU DUNT! Sounded again as the image of the Librarian appeared. Because of the scale, he had with what looked like a stiff thread in each hand poised before what looked like a toy organ. DUUUU DUNT!

. . . "Who is John Williams, and where exactly is Spielberg?" Vimes shouted over the noise as he tried the read the sheet music the Librarian was using.

. . . **DA DANT. DA DANT. DA DANT. DA DANT.**

. . . "I think we have handled the problem," Granny said as the Elfangelion took its final position. As the drill touched the ground. There seemed an impossible moment as the elves sensed their doom. The Luggage erupted from the earth directly beneath it. Its lid wide open, legs flailing. The Luggage snapped up the machine, swallowing it whole. It landed, sat there, looking as if it desperately wanted a toothpick.

. . . "Does that take care of it?" Vimes asked, more than a little shaken.

. . . Rincewind squirmed as all eyes turned to him. "It always kept my underwear clean."

. . . "I'd call that a yes," Vimes said, lighting a cigar. Glanced at Magrat when she coughed theatrically. "You should get that seen to."

. . . **DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN.**

. . . "Someone tell him to stop, we won!" Granny covered her ears and shouted over the din.


End file.
